


Richie Tozier's No Stephen King

by quixoticquest



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (not really) - Freeform, Fluff, Halloween, It's Dumb, Kissing, M/M, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Spooky stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 09:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16473020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixoticquest/pseuds/quixoticquest
Summary: Halloween prompt: "Maybe one where Richie writes a horror story for Eddie and it’s about their relationship, but if it were in a really supernatural world. Eddie loves it, and the two are all cute on Halloween, giving out candy and exchanging kisses. (The kisses are important. I love their kisses.) thanks!”





	Richie Tozier's No Stephen King

**Author's Note:**

> Just so you know, this is pretty dumb, and cheesy, hopefully just like any other Halloween special. Very dumb. Very cheesy. You have been warned.

“I’m fresh out of tricks, so you’ll have to settle for treats.” 

Richie bequeathed the costumed children their sought after spoils, shoving his hand into the plastic bowl under his arm, and coming away with as many full-sized candy bars as his crooked fingers could hold - because he was dead set on being the coolest grown up in the neighborhood. He may have bought out half the rack at CVS and the receipt was a little longer than he would have liked, but he sure as shit wasn’t gonna be handing out “fun-sized” Snickers like every other chump on the street.

“Let’s see what we got here,” he went on, leaning over to deposit the candy bowl next to the open door, so he could plant his hands on his hips and inspect adequately (a little hard, with a dollar store eyepatch strapped across his face). “Jason Vorhees, nice to see you. Generic fairy girl, nice to see you too. Is that...a Sam Raimi Spider-Man?! LAAAAAME!”

“Spider-Man’s not lame!” the kid declared, staring Richie down from the holes in his plastic and polyester store-bought costume. “He’s cool!”

“Yeah, when he’s not Toby Maguire,” Richie retorted, bending down to almost eye level with the kid, who couldn’t have been older than nine. “Go find Kirsten Dunst, Spidey.”

“Richie!” Suddenly Eddie appeared behind him, shouldering into the doorway with the candy bowl in his hands, his cardboard pirate hat threatening to fall with the slightest breeze. “Stop being an asshole-! Ah, oops. Don't repeat that.”

“I can’t help it if they’re stu-” Eddie shoved him aside by way of palm to the face, and proceeded to drop another candy bar in each basket to make up for the slight. 

“Sorry, guys, he didn’t pass sixth grade and he’s been annoying ever since. I for one think your costumes are cool.”

Eddie sent them on their way with little ceremony, leaving Richie to whine and huff in the foyer until the door finally closed, saving them from the chilly October evening. His boyfriend offered little more than a glare, arms crossed over his chest.

“You gonna make me walk the plank?” Richie asked innocently, putting on his best pirate voice. He got shoved again, and even Eddie’s yelling wasn’t enough to make him stop cackling.

The doorbell had been ringing non-stop since about five PM, and only in the last half hour had it started to let up. Richie never thought his first Halloween participating as a benevolent adult would be so tiring. Barely any kids lived in the apartment complex he and Eddie had moved out of not even six months ago. Made him wish he was a kid again, face-to-face with cool adults who gave out full-size Hershey’s and Three Musketeers. It had been hard to get away with when he was eighteen. It was probably absolutely out of the question at twenty-seven.

“Trick or treat, Eddie’s sweet, wish he’d let me suck his meat,” he sang, poking Eddie in the sides as they shuffled into the living room, stealing kisses all the while. “If he won’t, I don’t care, I’ll just steal his underwear.”

“How long did it take you to come up with that?” his boyfriend asked, deadpan.

“I’ve been mulling it over for an hour or so,” Richie replied smoothly.

“It’s only nine thirty. I’m not about to be caught with my pants down in front of a bunch of fourth graders.”

“Catching Eddie Kaspbrak with his pants down? I dunno, that sounds like a pretty good treat to me.”

“Richie!”

Eddie tossed his hat down on the coffee table, and picked up the remote - though, really they both should have known what was going to happen. A few futile clicks was all it took to convince him the television would remain dark. As if the fuse that powered the left side of their house would fix itself by virtue of the Great Pumpkin.

“Drat.” He dropped the remote, huffing in that wound-up way of his. “I’m so bored.”

“Well I’ve given you a whole list of things we could do…” Richie mumbled in a stage whisper, avoiding Eddie’s glare with ease.

“I could read you my story! I’m almost finished.” Swooping down onto the couch, Richie retrieved the notebook he had been using to busy himself when TV was out of the question, filled with Eddie’s grocery lists, and about four or five pages of his own messy handwriting. “It’s no Bill Denbrough bestseller but I think it’s purdy darn good.”

“Since when are you a writer?” Eddie murmured, placing himself on the cushion next to Richie’s legs neatly. For some reason he saw fit that they didn’t touch, so Richie remedied that by tilting the other way to burrow into the crevice between Eddie’s back and the backrest. If he squinted, Eddie was lying on top of him.

“Uh, since Intro to Creative Writing in college, baby,” Richie countered, watching with amusement as Eddie twisted awkwardly to face him (and then ultimately deciding that he was better off just tucking his small self against Richie’s chest anyway). “Don’t knock my art just ‘cause I don’t do it a lot. Inspiration is hard to find, you know.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, just get on with it.” Eddie waved his hand in the air, giving all the permission Richie needed to settle in, adjust his glasses, and bring the notebook to his face - with one arm across Eds, of course.

He cleared his throat for dramatic effect, and began: “It was a dark and stormy night-”

“Ugh!”

_ It was a dark and stormy night, in a cold and empty house where all the fuses had blown out, not just the that worked the TV. The owner of the house occupied himself by jacking it until the cows came home. He was a comedian - a funny, handsome, awesome, amazing one at that, but not even he could deny that primal urge that accosted Man to yank it every once in a while. _

_ He blew his load, christening his new house for the sixty-ninth time, as fate would have it. Little did he know, that house he bought with all his comedian money had been built on a Native American burial ground, cursed by a witch, served as inspiration for Amityville Horror, and then got cursed by a witch again - a different witch. So the house was as haunted as can be - unbeknownst to the comedian. Little did he ALSO know that by jerking off for the sixty-ninth time, on a night such as this, that he would jumpstart what would be the most terrifying - and arousing - night of his life. _

“Is this just gonna be porn?” Eddie asked, head pillowed against Richie’s arm.

“Of course not, Eds,” Richie answered with mock offense. “What kind of man do you think I am - actually, don’t answer that. Just relax, and listen.”

Eddie grumbled, but settled down, and Richie  _ ahemed _ his way back to where he had left off.

_ The gorgeous comedian, worn out from all his hard work, wandered downstairs to rustle up some grub from the kitchen. Spooky noises seemed to follow him wherever he went. The floorboards creaked with every step he took. It sounded like there was tapping coming from within the walls (which probably wasn’t anything supernatural, just squirrels who can't be bothered to stay in the trees so he should probably call an exterminator). Ghostly moans seemed to come in and out of existence, but when the comedian lifted his head to listen better, they went away. _

_ Writing it off as the wind, like every dumb bastard in scary stories, the comedian went back up to his spacious bedroom- _

“So he went downstairs for nothing.”

“It’s called padding the runtime, Eds!”

_ The comedian went back up to his spacious bedroom after indulging a full can of Pringles, because he can, and hunkered down to rub out another sweet, sweet load. Because you don’t stop masturbating on an odd number. _

_ But then, before his manly man hand could even grace the delicate skin of his bigger-than-average dick, a sound made its way to his ears. It was those ghostly moans, echoing with all the fervor of a bottom whose world was getting rocked, coming ever closer. Muffled footsteps could be heard from the stairs, ascending up, up, up. The comedian was frozen, unable to move, but it wasn’t enough to make him flaccid. _

_ The footsteps and the moans sounded like they had reached the top of the stairs, and were drifting down the hall, toward the comedian’s bedroom! Each step was louder than the last, each moan more forceful than the one that came before it, until it sounded more like a pornstar than a ghost. Even as he shivered and shook, spooked to the core, the comedian had to admit, he was kind of turned on. _

_ Suddenly, the door creaked open- _

_ Eeeeeeeeeeeeeer _ , Richie whined out, teeth clenched together - for dramatic effect. Eddie jumped in his lap and smacked his knee.

_ But, there was no one there! When the door opened the hallway outside was dark and empty, just like the rest of the house. The comedian let out a sigh of relief. Too soon, it seemed. _

_ All of a sudden it felt like cold fingers curled around the comedian, startling him to stillness. Where did the cold fingers curl, you might ask…? _

“You might ask?” Richie repeated, nudging Eddie with his chin.

Eddie sighed. “Where?”

_ Around his belt buckle! Somehow the comedian’s pants were on even though he was about to masturbate, it’s not a continuity flaw it was just a spoooooky happening! Like that one scene in  _ Ghostbusters _ , the invisible hands undid the comedian’s belt buckle ever so slowly, and he could only watch, terrified, awed, as his belt fell away, and his fly came down. Soon after, those chilly little fingers pushed his pants down, and his underwear along with it, and his magnificent dick sprang free. _

_ Then, a vision appeared before the comedian. Right in front of him, between his legs, the visage of a ghost, see-through and pale, floated in front of his crotch. This ghost was not scary looking or skeletal, like the comedian thought he would be. In fact, this ghost was pretty cute, with neat brown hair, and big baleful brown eyes. The comedian could even pick out little ghostly freckles sprinkled across ghost guy’s little ghostly nose- _

“Alright I get it,” Eddie snapped. Even faced away, Richie could make out the red in his ears, and grinned smugly.

_ “Wuh-wuh-wuh-what are you gonna do to me?” the comedian asked fearfully, though it turned out he was still pretty horny too. _

_ “I’m gonna give you a boooooooo job,” the ghost wailed in his ghost voice. _

_ As it turns out, a boo job is just a blow job, but given by a ghost. And this cute ass ghost gave the comedian the best blow job of his life. It was so good that he died too, right there on the spot. Which wasn’t actually so bad because that meant he could hit that amazing ghost guy ass for the rest of eternity, without ever having to sleep, or eat Pringles, again. And they all lived happily ever after. _

Richie shut the notebook with a dull thud, basking in the imagined applause of a coffee shop open mic night.

“That’s it?” Eddie demanded, twisting around to face Richie. His brow was screwed up over his eyes, mouth twisted in disbelief. “You didn’t even draw out the suspense. Or the blow job!”

“Well  _ somebody _ didn’t want any porn,” Richie mumbled, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. “Besides! I did it in like, the last half hour. And I told you Bill could probably do it better.”

“If Bill wrote anything close to that, he’d get banned from every publishing house in the country,” Eddie proclaimed flatly.

“Golly Eddie, who do you think publishes those bodice rippers your mom reads?”

Before he could make a single move (which was really indicative of his abysmal reflexes), Eddie swiped the notebook out of Richie’s hands and whacked him over the head. It didn’t hurt, probably wasn’t intended to, with all those worn pages and the creased cardboard back. But it fucked up Richie’s hair and that was the worst part.

“Okay okay okay, what if I change it,” he offered hurriedly, scooting against the couch so he could sit better - Eddie rolling against him all the while, until he finally decided to stand up. Which  _ definitely  _ wasn’t going to work, so when Richie got comfortable he pulled his boyfriend right back into his lap. Luckily, without much resistance, because Richie wasn’t so sure he could guard his balls in this position. Eddie had himself some bony, vindictive knees.

“I’ll fix it just for you,” he continued in a gushing tone, finding his notebook again with one had so he could rub Eddie’s hair in all different directions, a fitting vengeance for the slight on his own head. Good thing that pirate hat wasn’t there because Richie had been itching to get his fingers in those silky smooth chestnut swoops all night.

When he had both hands free, he opened to a random page, since it didn’t really matter what he was reading at this point, whether it was about the comedian and the ghost guy or  _ Bread, Eggs, Neosporin, Oreos _ . Richie Tozier was about to put his improv skills to the test.

“So, the ghost had just given the comedian this amazing blow job,” Richie started, smiling, since he could see Eddie better this way, in all his angry-but-not-really glory.

_ The comedian’s whole world had been rocked by those perfect little ghostly lips. And he wasn’t dead yet. What kind of guy dies right after he gets a blow job anyway? It’s not polite. No, this comedian is a gentleman. He would probably make the perfect boyfriend, even if he leaves the toilet seat up sometimes. We all make mistakes. _

_ No, the comedian did not die. Instead, he took the ghost guy in his arms, which was surprisingly easy since you’d think it would be hard, with the transparency and the ghost stereotypes and everything. When he had sufficiently scooped up that ghost guy like a spoon in half-melted ice cream, the comedian tipped the ghost’s face towards him, and said something lovely. _

“Do you know what he said, Eds?” Richie asked, lips twitching with every inclination to grin wider, barely even looking at the book with Eddie there to stare him down.

Thankfully, his boyfriend was still playing along. “What did he say, Richie?”

_ “You are the most beautiful ghost I have ever seen,” the comedian declared, which was the truth, and he’s a bad liar anyway so ghost guy could tell. “Not that I have seen many ghosts, but you’re basically the most beautiful  _ thing _ I have ever seen anyway. And that also means you’re the hottest, and the cutest, and the sexiest, if I do say so myself. I love the way you part your hair and I love it even more when I mess it up and then I can watch you comb it all over again. I love that you’re content to sit here while I do the dumbest shit imaginable. I love that you’ve always been happy to do dumb shit with me. And it’s fucking bonkers that we’re here doing adult Halloween together like some old married couple, except we’re cooler, obviously, because we don’t hand out toothbrushes. Hopefully it never comes to that, but you know what I mean.” _

Realizing (or more likely, knowing the whole time) that he had effectively destroyed the continuity of his fictitious universe, Richie clammed up, and stared at Eddie, waiting for his ever-honest criticism. 

Eddie stared back, lips bunching and twisting in increments, in some effort to keep them flat. Richie had known him for long enough to tell he was trying not to smile. Or, maybe he had to pee. Sometimes it was hard to tell.

“Well?” Eddie finally demanded, with newfound intensity. “What does the ghost say to that?”

“Ah, I’m not sure,” Richie confessed, waving the notebook over his head in surrender. “I might need some inspiration for that part. Wouldn’t want to write it out of character.”

Eddie snorted, shook his head, and rolled his eyes - the Kaspbrak Special. Richie thought he might top it all off by standing again, but instead, he just caught the quirk of a grudging grin across Eddie’s face right before the persnickety brunet swooped forward, catching his lips for a pleasant kiss. Cornering Richie against the couch in the sweet, blissful interim.

Thinking that maybe this was what he had intended all along and that his dastardly plan had worked in his favor, Richie got his long arms around Eddie’s body, clutching him close as their lips slid together, giving way to breath and teeth in increments. As if he would settle for a single smooch after a night of forced celibacy, at the behest of holiday traditions. Richie was looking to take a page out of - well, his own book, the fallen notebook, forgotten somewhere now that it had become more important to touch Eddie wherever his hands could reach. Now if only he could get his boyfriend to sign on.

“Bet we’re done for the evening,” Richie mumbled against Eddie’s mouth, warm enough that it made his face cold when he couldn’t feel that hot and heavy chocolate breath on his cheeks, the little candy moocher. “It’s a school night, after all. Kids gotta get on the bus in the morning. You and me deserve a trick of some sort or a treat of some kind for all the work we put into this.”

“If you can talk this much, I must not be doing a good job,” Eddie griped, sliding away to glare those honey and hazelnut eyes at Richie. Was it really a glare if he looked so pleased? Richie couldn’t tell.

He smiled. “It’s nothing to do with your skill babe, just my own. But if you’re thinking of putting your mouth to work elsewhere, I might have a few ideas.”

“Oh yeah? You gonna tell me where or do I have to guess?”

“As if you don’t know.”

Watching Eddie go through the motions of shedding his mild-mannered, if hot-tempered, exterior was probably the best part, looking his absolute best on top of Richie. A weird part of him wished the pirate hat was around at this point, but it wasn’t required to knock his socks off.

Before Eddie could work himself up to that delightfully scrumptious precipice of lenience, though, the doorbell rang. Richie threw himself back against the couch in anguish, groaning loudly. Annoyed, perhaps, for the first time with Halloween.

“Come on you weirdo, the night’s not over yet.” Eddie hauled him up by his long arms, and before Richie got far enough to reach his full height, received a pert little kiss against his own frowning mouth, chaste and delicate and supportive in the best kind of way.

“And then, well, I’ll need to expel the energy from my sugar rush  _ somehow _ . If I time it right.”

“Alright I see what you’re saying,” Richie answered quickly, mock-considering as he scratched his chin. Before Eddie could get to the door without him, he doubled back to the coffee table and snatched up the forgotten pirate hat, settling it atop his bushy hair as he replaced his eyepatch.

“I get to be full pirate though! You’ll just have to be the booty. Good thing yours is so damn juicy.”

Eddie managed a playful kick to the shins before they opened the door, subjecting themselves to the shrieking chant of children demanding they be given candy - and given they were.


End file.
